The impact three generations of Hammersteins had on the development of the American musical theatre has no historic equal. It is simply unique.
The first Oscar Hammerstein was as public and larger-than-life as Times Square itself. An inventor, writer, editor, publisher, composer, speculator, designer, builder, promoter, showman, he was, above all else, an impresario who accomplished his dream of revitalizing opera in America. He pursued his private passion for opera in the public eye: his amazing successes and spectacular defeats made front-page news more often than those of any other entertainment figure of the era. He was not courageous; he was fearless, and that had certain drawbacks. He lived life as a creative process but with no Off button to push. He couldn’t quit while he was ahead. If he had, the Hammersteins would now own much of Times Square, the theatre district that he is generally credited with creating.
Oscar Hammerstein I (1847–1919)
Oscar Hammerstein I popularized opera, the musical of his day. With an eye for the scandalous and the new, he launched the morally modern, daring French opera repertoire. He reshaped traditional opera to provide both fine acoustics and a more intimate, dramatic, realistic experience. His company possessed many of the finest singers of that era—Nellie Melba, Luisa Tetrazzini, Emma Calvé, Alessandro Bonci, Charles Dalmorès, Maurice Renaud, Mario Sammarco, and Mary Garden—and he sought in presentations, above all, a greater integration of all the theatrical arts in the service of a more unified dramatic whole. His roster, therefore, was skewed toward singers who could also act and even dance. In addition, Oscar I single-handedly fought to bring the transcendent singspiel of opera to a wider American audience and to wrest it from its upper-class imprisonment by the Metropolitan Opera Association.
Oscar I’s accomplishments are manifold, but his inevitable failure is in some way even more laudable and lasting than his success. Forced to channel his Herculean energies into operetta, he helped set the stage—build the stage, some might say—for the rise of the American operetta, which began with his commissioning Victor Herbert to write Naughty Marietta and reached its apotheosis with his grandson’s masterpiece, Show Boat.
Oscar I’s story is not a traditional success story—his is a one-of-a-kind “passion play.” He was one of those rare individuals who believed in his bones that money was a means to an end—never an end in itself. He died penniless, but he left New York City infinitely richer for his efforts. And he inspired, blazing a clear trail for his namesake grandson to follow. Without Oscar I, there would have been no Oscar II.
If Times Square had a face, it would be that of Oscar Hammerstein I. But his story is only the first act in the Hammerstein family saga.
The second Oscar carried his grandfather’s genius and passion further. As personalities go, the two Oscars couldn’t have been less alike except in one crucial way: they both shared an irrepressible, workaholic passion for musical theatre, and they both left their indelible mark on its development. Seen from a distance, they, along with the two patient brothers in the middle generation, Arthur and Willy, who learned all they knew from Oscar I and taught all they knew to Oscar II, form a single narrative of one possessed family carrying the art of the sung story from European opera, through operetta and musical comedy, to the decidedly American art of the “book” musical play that we have today.
Oscar Hammerstein II furthered the transformative power of the musical play by making the believability and truthfulness of the story—the show’s libretto—the organic center around which all the other elements orbited. Moreover, Oscar II’s lyrics were warm, humane, and touched on themes of tolerance and understanding. For these simple reasons, the man who consistently referred to himself as “a careful dreamer” was able to dream up shows like Show Boat, Oklahoma!, Carousel, South Pacific, The King and I, and The Sound of Music.
Oscar II’s contributions to the development of the musical-play form make him inarguably the most important lyricist and librettist in the history of the Broadway stage. His songs and shows are as popular today as when they were first written and remain the gold standard by which present-day shows are judged.
Most poignantly, like that of his grandfather, Oscar II’s failure, his show Allegro, may have proved the most enduring part of his legacy. Allegro sparked a flame of fearlessness in his only student, Stephen Sondheim, who, along with other contemporary creators, has carried the torch and pushed the boundaries of musical realism into the twenty-first century.
All my life I have been told that my grandfather, Oscar II, was a genius—a thing he denied to the skies. He hated the term and was quick to place credit for his success on two more prosaic factors: he worked compulsively for decades, and he made tons of mistakes. It was hard work not divine magic, perspiration not inspiration that he credited for his success.
He also made what I believe is one of the most remarkable observations about the creative process: that one learns far more from failure than from success. With a hit, nothing is really learned over the din of kudos, but with a flop, one learns valuable lessons the hard way. That wasn’t false modesty; it was real modesty. He used to tell his sons on the tennis court, “Don’t think about the last ball. Think about the next ball.” That is the very essence of optimism, and that optimism sprang from an artist who had the faith and courage to let the narrative process define the theatrical product—not vice versa.
Oscar Hammerstein II (1895–1960)
Stephen Sondheim cites three concrete contributions to the musical-theatre-writing craft that Oscar Hammerstein II left in his wake (and who am I to argue?). The first is exemplified with Oklahoma!’s “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’.” This song framed the sense of place and put character and fate into motion from the first syllable. Get to your seats—we’re telling a story here! The second is exemplified by Carousel’s “If I Loved You,” Show Boat’s “Make Believe,” and Oklahoma!’s “People Will Say We’re in Love.” With these coy first-act love duets, Oscar II got to have it both ways: there’s a qualified declaration of love, but it keeps the lovers separated until the audience can get to know them better and thereby care more for the love between them and the conflicts they face. But the third, illustrated by Carousel’s “Soliloquy (My Boy Bill),” is the big one—the masterpiece. Into one seven-minute-long, tour-de-force solo Oscar compresses almost a first act’s worth of character development and plot propulsion. This is the story sung!
“Soliloquy” is like a beautiful oak tree. Admiring its robust height and heft, one may forget just how deep its operatic roots go. Or when that tree’s seed was planted.
This book aims to remind.
